Just like you always did what I told you to.
“Yeah? Did you tell me to do this?” Tamara whispered fiercely. And she heard Glock’s chuckle and her reply.
Look at the little hellcat I raised. How ya been, Princess?
“How you been, Glock?” she hissed at Worth.
His eyes were glazing. She’d cut off the flow of his carotid. His brain would starve of oxygen before the rest of his body.
Hands hauled Tamara back. Big, powerful hands, too strong for her to fight back against, especially in her weakened state. Several guards, and none of them had pens or ties. Tamara didn’t have time to figure out how to react or what to do. There was a jab of pain in her thigh, and all ability to fight or think or do anything else drained from Tamara’s brain.
They waited several minutes, much longer than they needed to, to be sure that the injection had taken and Tamara couldn’t fight back or form a thought. A couple of the guards continued to hold her and watch her closely, while others tended to Worth.
Group session was over. All of the participants were dismissed to go back to their rooms. Worth remained where he was to await proper medical care. The guards holding Tamara picked her up and carried her back to her room.
“I told you that whole zombie shuffle was an act,” Burgess said, dropping Tamara onto her bunk from much higher than he needed to.
“How do you medicate someone who does something like that when they’re so doped up?” the other guard mused. “Any more, and she’s unconscious.”
“It takes time to find the right medication and the right dosage,” recited the nurse who had followed them into the room. It was crowded with all three of them packed in there with Tamara. “This might not be the right cocktail, but you can’t tell after just a few days. Some of these drugs take weeks or months to reach full efficacy. Until then, we have to just keep experimenting and keep a closer eye on her…”
Burgess turned and looked at her, scowling. “We couldn’t keep a much closer watch on her without actually holding her in our laps. Who told the idiot to wear a tie to the forensic unit, anyway?”
The nurses made a noise of acknowledgement that was almost a laugh. “It was a beautiful tie, though.” Followed by a noise that definitely was a laugh.
The guards shook their heads. The nurse checked Tamara’s pulse and her eyes and nodded. “She’ll be down for a few hours. There won’t be any more incidents.”
Tamara was pretty lucid when Dr. Sutherland came in for a visit. He solved the problem of there not being any place to sit in her cell other than the bunk or the toilet by bringing his own folding chair, which he set against the wall. He sat down and gave her a concerned smile.
“Well, Tamara. Sounds like you had some difficulty today.”
“It’s the drugs,” Tamara muttered, staring at her feet and refusing to look toward him. “I told you I didn’t want you messing me up on all of these prescriptions.”
“We still need to work some more on your protocol. But I believe this was in spite of, rather than because of the meds.”
“Bull.”
Dr. Sutherland shook his head. “Why don’t you tell me about what happened? The side effects you have been complaining about are lack of energy and motivation, dry mouth, and a bad taste. I don’t think this was related to those symptoms.”
“I did it… because he was Glock.”
“What do you mean by that? You thought that Mr. Worth was Glock Spielman?”
“I didn’t think he was. I… knew he was. He was Glock.”
“That doesn’t really make sense, though, does it? How could he be someone who is several hours away from here in another facility? Did you hallucinate that he looked like her? Did he say something that reminded you of her? What exactly triggered this delusion?”
Tamara pulled her gaze away from her feet to look at him. “It’s not a delusion,” she insisted.
“Do you truly think Mr. Worth and Glock Spielman are the same person?”
“Yes.”
“That really doesn’t make sense. Do you know that?”
“Yes.”
“Okay… well, we’re still working on it, Tamara. Sometimes these things take a while to get right.”
Tamara looked at the wall behind him. “Do you always get them right? Sooner or later?”
Sutherland took a long time to reply.
“Not to my satisfaction, no. Not always.”
She lay still, staring at the wall for a long time after Dr. Sutherland had left. Not just because she didn’t have enough energy to do anything else. She had thought at first that she could overcome the problems with her brain by force of will. Or at least hide them and keep everyone from noticing. When she was forced to transfer to the Forensic unit and be treated, she had reluctantly bought into the idea that if they worked hard enough and long enough on the problem, they would be able to cure her. A handful of pills taken faithfully on a prescribed schedule, and she would be fine. She would be back to normal and could live a perfectly normal life, should she ever get out of prison.
But Dr. Sutherland had admitted that it didn’t always work that way. They couldn’t always find the magic combination needed to stabilize a patient. And even once stabilized on the appropriate cocktail, things weren’t static. The body changed, drugs lost their effectiveness over time, life stressors became too great, and the patient would have another psychotic break even while on the correct protocol.
It meant that she was going to be like that for the rest of her life. Never able to separate reality from what her brain constructed. Always fighting her own nature and her own thoughts. Maybe becoming violent with those around her for no reason.
Was that why she had killed Corrine and Julie in the first place? Dr. Sutherland knew that she had been having hallucinations at the time. Were her reasons for harming those poor babies based on delusions? Tricks that her brain was playing on her?
She lay there for a long time before finally falling asleep, fully comprehending for the first time that her brain was her enemy instead of her ally. And there wasn’t anything she could do about it.
25
TAMARA SAT IN a meeting room with Mrs. Henson. It wasn’t quite the same as when they met in General. The meeting room was right inside Forensic and she didn’t have to go through a big security check before going in. No search or x-ray. But unlike when they had met in General, there was a guard right in the room with them. Tamara scowled at this. She didn’t need someone right there listening to her private conversations.
Not that she’d be sharing anything secret with Mrs. Henson; but she still would have liked to have been able to talk to Mrs. Henson without other listening ears.
Jensen, the guard hovering nearby, pretended that he wasn’t listening, but Tamara knew otherwise. His eyes were on her the whole time, just waiting for her to make some move to hurt Mrs. Henson.
“I’m not going to do anything,” she growled at him.
Jensen’s brows went up, but he didn’t make any comment. Mrs. Henson patted at her hair before sitting down and gave Tamara reassuring smile. “I’m sure he knows that. It’s just their procedure.”
Tamara slumped into her seat and put her hands up on the table, clasped together, where Jensen could see them.
“They think I’m going to attack you.”
“I know you’re not going to.”
Tamara shook her head. “No, you don’t. I could.”
Mrs. Henson pressed her lips together, considering this. “Are you upset with me about something?”
“No. But that doesn’t matter. If my brain told me you were a threat…”
“Do you think I’m a threat?”
Tamara looked Mrs. Henson over, but she wasn’t getting any alarm bells. No little niggling suspicions that might turn into something else.
“No… not yet.”
Mrs. Henson smiled. “Then I’m not worried.”
Tamara swiveled her head to look at Jensen. “But I might th
ink he’s a threat. Why does he have to stay?”
“I think I can defend myself against you,” Jensen said. “Don’t you worry about that.”
Tamara just scowled at him, looking for a way to have him removed or to persuade him to leave her alone with Mrs. Henson.
“You don’t have anything to use as a weapon, do you?” Jensen pointed out confidently. “You’re not big enough to overcome me.”
Tamara cataloged her person and the room. No pens, no ties. Nothing that could obviously be used as a weapon. Mrs. Henson hadn’t been able to bring her personal items into the room. She had either been warned ahead against wearing jewelry or they’d had her remove it when she got there. Nothing that could be used to choke or stab a person. Jensen was probably right. Even if she did decide he was a danger to her, there wasn’t much she could do that he wouldn’t be able to handle. She tried to relax her muscles and unclench her jaw.
She looked back at Mrs. Henson.
“I’m glad that you’re here, Tamara,” Mrs. Henson confided. “I’ve been quite worried about you lately. I think this is for the best. So you can get the treatment you need.”
Tamara shrugged. “Not like it’s helping.”
“It takes time. You need to be patient and see how it works out. You can’t judge from just a few days.”
Tamara sighed and stared at the wall. Same old argument. Everybody had the same argument. Wait. It could take weeks, months, even years to figure out what would work. Or maybe she would be one of those people nothing would help. They’d never be able to take away the delusions and the intrusive thoughts and flashbacks. She’d have to live with it for the rest of her life.
“I can see a difference already,” Mrs. Henson offered. “You’re a lot more calm today than you have been the last few times I’ve come to see you. That’s good, isn’t it? A move in the right direction.”
“It’s just a side effect. It makes me tired, takes away all my energy.”
“But if it calms you down, that’s good.”
“It doesn’t.”
Mrs. Henson looked for a way to argue this. Then she shook her head, letting it be. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. I hope they can find something that will help you soon. It must be very frustrating for you.”
Tamara just clenched her teeth. Her jaw ached with the pressure.
“I brought you some more books,” Mrs. Henson offered, nodding at the small stack of paperbacks she had been allowed to bring into the meeting room. No hard covers, so they couldn’t be used as weapons.
Tamara nodded apathetically.
“The family all says ‘hi.’ Everybody sends their love and wants to hear how you’re doing.”
“Yeah, say ‘hi’ back.”
Mrs. Henson nodded, pleased. “I sure will.”
Tamara tried to remember what Mrs. Henson might have told her on her last visit. “So, Harry’s looking for his own place?”
There was an infinitesimal pause before Mrs. Henson responded. A lightning-quick instant of surprise and evaluation before answering.
“No, he’s got a place now. He comes over for Sunday dinner, calls to talk sometimes, but he’s really doing well on his own. We’re all so proud of him for being able to make a life for himself. He’s a great success story.”
Unlike Tamara.
“Yeah, that’s great,” Tamara agreed. “I… forgot he’d gotten his own place… already.”
She watched Mrs. Henson’s eyes, trying to gauge her reaction to Tamara’s words. There was relief and approval there. The right response. She had told Tamara before that Harry had his own place. The news that he had a promotion and might be looking for his own apartment had been months ago, and sometime in the visits since then, Mrs. Henson had told her that he’d found a place and moved out. Tamara had no recollection of it.
“It’s hard for you,” Mrs. Henson allowed. “You’re not home with us and you have a lot of other things on your mind. It must be hard to keep track of everything.”
They both knew it was just an excuse. The problem wasn’t that Tamara was away from the family, but that her brain was falling apart. She couldn’t retain anything. The details she could remember were all jumbled and without order. It took a huge effort to recall what had really happened and what Tamara had only imagined, and in what order. She had to struggle to recreate a timeline every single time.
“And… the girls…?”
“Nita is doing pretty well. Stressed about exams, but she’s studying hard and she knows her stuff. She’ll pull through just fine. Deshawn is struggling with the new program. We’re doing our best to support her. She’s become a little withdrawn… hardly even talking to Nita…” Mrs. Henson gave a helpless shrug. “They’re so close, it’s been hard on Nita to be shut out like that. I’m hoping that maybe some antidepressants will make a difference. For Deshawn. She has an appointment next week.”
Tamara tried to sort through the convoluted thoughts. Mrs. Henson assumed that everything she’d previously told Tamara had been retained, but she desperately needed the background to work out what all of the words meant.
“She doesn’t like… the new program?” Tamara tried.
“I think it’s the best thing for her. But she feels like she’s failed. That she should have been able to just complete her education in a mainstream school and program.”
Tamara nodded. She remembered that Deshawn had ‘challenges.’ That was how Mrs. Henson had termed it. The new program had to be a school program. Some kind of alternative stream. She would never go to special ed, Tamara remembered that part. Tamara looked briefly at Mrs. Henson, pretending that it all made sense and had connected.
“And…” Mrs. Henson considered, “then there is Cecelia and her little one.” She looked at Tamara expectantly.
Tamara swallowed. She couldn’t remember what she was supposed to know about the new girl. “She… had her baby…?”
“Yes. I can’t believe he’s a month old already. He’s such a sweetie. Just enchants everyone who meets him. Such fat cheeks and always smiling. Very social. Hitting all of his milestones, in spite of how hard the pregnancy was.”
Tamara tried to imagine the fat, cute, baby boy. Not a girl like Julie or Amy. What would have happened if the Bakers had had boys instead of girls? How different would Tamara’s life have been? Or would it have been exactly the same? The world wobbled. Tamara had been keeping her hands on top of the table so they would be within Jensen’s sight, but she removed them to steady herself, holding on to the sides of the table, which felt a bit unstable, then to the sides of her chair, trying to ground herself.
“Just breathe.”
At first, she looked at Mrs. Henson, thinking the words had come from her, but then realized that she herself had spoken them. Mrs. Henson leaned forward, concerned, but didn’t reach out to Tamara. There was no touching in the visitor room in General. Tamara could only assume the same rule applied in Forensic.
“How about…” Tamara tried to remember the other boy’s name. She didn’t want to talk about Cecelia and her baby. Tamara couldn’t help seeing a baby in the crib at Mrs. Henson’s house, instantly morphing into Julie. As if the baby boy were Julie, the same way that Worth was Glock. But Dr. Sutherland said that was a delusion. Not a truth. “Um… Jeffrey… no… Jace. Jason?”
“Jason,” Mrs. Henson agreed with a laugh. “I’m glad someone else has trouble with names. I live with them and still can’t get the names right all the time. I use the excuse that I’ve had so many boys and girls through there… but I’m afraid that it’s just my faulty brain…”
Tamara stared at her. Mrs. Henson’s eyes slid away, her face turning pink.
“Jason is fine. He and Dirk are still bumping heads.” She rolled her eyes. “Boys are so competitive. Jason has been spoiled before, having Harry there. A mentor for him, confidante, big brother. Now having someone closer to his age, expecting him to be the mature one…”
Tamara nodded. Dirk was new since she had lef
t. Since Harry had left. He’d been there, at most, a few months, and hadn’t worked out all of the personal relationships yet.
“It’s a full house!” Mrs. Henson said with a little laugh. “Three girls. Two and a half boys. There’s always something happening.”
“Sounds… busy.”
“That’s the way we like it. I don’t think I would know what to do with a quiet house.”
Tamara’s stomach twisted and turned. She pressed one hand against it, trying to quiet it, still using the other to hang on to the chair and support herself. Mrs. Henson cocked her head.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just… cramps.” Tamara pressed down, wincing, and waited for it to subside.
When she looked at Mrs. Henson again, the woman had a frown on her face, staring at Tamara’s hand over her stomach. She didn’t look away when Tamara glared at her.
“Are you having a lot of stomach problems?”
“Probably just the meds,” Tamara said.
“You’ve put on weight.”
“The nurses say everyone does. The antipsychotics… they affect your ability to tell when you’re full.”
Mrs. Henson pushed herself back from the table a little, looking around it at Tamara’s midriff. Tamara shifted uncomfortably, putting herself at an angle to her foster mother, not liking the scrutiny.
“Tamara… are you pregnant?”
26
TAMARA LET GO of her belly and gripped the chair with both hands. The room spun and her stomach again twisted and turned.
“No!”
Tamara held her arm across her stomach and pushed hard. Mrs. Henson’s eyes were bright and sharp, looking at Tamara as if she had x-ray vision to see through her orange, voluminous jumpsuit.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m not. I haven’t been with anyone; how could I be?”
Mrs. Henson shifted her chair around the table slightly. She looked at the guard and lowered her voice to a murmur he wouldn’t be able to hear.
Tortured Teardrops (Tamara's Teardrops Book 3) Page 30